


Nadûd

by suikastChi



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-31
Updated: 2013-07-31
Packaged: 2017-12-21 23:45:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/906365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suikastChi/pseuds/suikastChi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brothers, accompanying each other through their lives. Always together, from start to finish, even if the end came too early for some of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Brothers

**Author's Note:**

> Khuzdul:
> 
> nadûd = brothers  
> nadad = brother  
> -uh = possessive suffix "my"

“Brother!“  
  
Balin would recognize Dwalin’s voice anywhere, even as hoarse from all the battlecries and tears his younger sibling had shed, and in this surroundings it came as a wake-up call as he stood guardian over his father’s lifeless body.  
  
“Brother” the tall warrior repeated, roughly dragging at Balin’s arms as the elder did not respond or react to his presence in any way. The battle had been won, but it by no means felt like a victory. They had lost in too many other ways.  
  
Even now, hours after the retreat of the orcs other dwarves around them were searching for their brothers, fathers, friends and cousins. Balin had seen Thorin silently limp over to where Thrór’s headless corpse lay, only to turn around again before the prince – no king now, Thráin had fled and was nowhere to be seen, ever since the Pale Orc had raised above the hordes of orcs with their king’s head in his fist – could properly look at the body.  
  
Balin could understand him well.  
He himself barely managed to look at his father’s form where it lay, still clutching one axe in his now cold hands, fallen as the soldier he had been trained to be before he had become right hand man to Thrór as advisor.  
  
“Brother” Dwalin said a third time, eventually getting a proper grip on Balin’s armoured shoulders, turning him away from Fundin so that he was face to the grim face of the younger, covered with dirt and blood, streaked with tears but lightened with relief at having found the other. “Brother.” Balin finally returned, leaning his head against his younger brother’s forehead and finally giving in to the grief that held his heart between its cold iron claws.  
  
Dimly Balin was aware of Thorin standing somewhere next to them but for now he was lost to the world and even to his new king, a king he had already offered his alliance and reassured him of his friendship and support only few minutes after the battle had been over, when he had offered his bloodied sword to the younger dwarf, blood still hot in his veins from the fight. His head had been swimming in the glorious minutes of victory then, before reality had come crashing down on them like a rockslide.  
  
The two sons of Fundin were only startled apart, when their young king gave a strangled cry, throwing his weapons aside to get to a pile of bodies not too far off from where his two friends had discovered their father.  
“Frerin, brother! NO!”  
Useless and forgotten the oaken branch that had saved Thorin’s life was thrown to the mushy ground, muddy with grime and blood as if the young dwarf had not been holding onto it as if it was the very thing that kept him alive and upright mere moments ago.  
  
Instead Thorin now clutched a body to his chest that barely had enough breath in him left to utter a few last words as his brother desperately cried for him to stay, to please stay. “Don’t leave me! Not you too, don’t leave me.” Balin’s heart ached for the young prince, but he couldn’t do anything else but clutch at his own brother, to reassure himself that they were both there, that they did not share the terrible fate that had come over their young friend.  
  
“Frerin, naddaduh, no please, please.”  
  
It was not the proud and fearless young prince that had faced down the Pale Orc by himself anymore that was kneeling before them now, rocking his brother’s body in his arms and pressing his forehead against the younger’s. In this moment Thorin was just another young dwarf, helpless and scared and pained and when he received no more reply and stared down into empty eyes he threw his head back and howled his pain and fury to the pale sky from where the sun shone upon them without a care in the world about the tragedy she witnessed.


	2. From finish to start

“Brother?”  
  
Thorin looked up from where he was inspecting his armour for loose links in the chainmail or bent plates. He could not afford any weak spots, the battle was tomorrow and he did not want to fail his grandfather. Also he was scared and this helped him to gather some insurance that at least his armour wouldn’t fail him where his body and mind might. Still he always had time for his little brother. Especially when said little brother looked downtrodden but turned his grey-blue eyes up at him with such a hopeful expression that Thorin knew instantly what Frerin would ask of him now.  
  
“A word?”  
  
The younger one stalled and sat down next to his big brother as Thorin hummed an affirmative and scooted aside to make room on the bench he was sitting on.  
Silently the two of them sat next to another for a few moments, Frerin fidgeted slightly as if hoping that the words would come to his mouth by themselves or that Thorin would say something first, but the latter was unlikely to happen, since Thorin kept on inspecting his chainmail, waiting for his younger brother to open his mouth.  
  
“Could you… could you speak to them on my behalf? Because of the battle.” Frerin said eventually, barely daring to look as his brother as Thorin sighed and put away his armour to turn towards the younger. “I want to be there! My place is at your side and I am old enough to follow our grandfather into battle. I just… please, Thorin he’ll listen to you!”  
  
“Frerin…” Thorin sighed, offering his little brother a smile that asked for understanding. “You’re forty-two, you’re not even old enough to be considered an adult.” “You were younger when that fire-breathing maggot sacked out home and still you stormed into the fight at the gates and in the vanguard too!” Frerin was desperate to make his point and he scooted closer to Thorin, grabbing his arm for support and to underline his words. But it only made Thorin shake his head. True, he had been much younger then, but it was not a pleasant memory.  
  
The only thing he had gathered from then had been how small and insignificant a single dwarf was in such a situation and how terrible fighting was, with men around him dying screaming as the dragon carelessly stepped on them or brushed them aside as if they were naught more than flies pestering a horse.  
  
No, Thorin had known since then that battle was not honourable or glorious in any way, no matter the cause and thus he was wary to follow his grandfather into Moria, a place he had only heard about in old stories and tales and never seen with his own eyes, but he knew enough to be aware that the place was lost to them and that there were good reasons behind Thráin’s command for his youngest son to stay far from that battle.  
  
But of course Frerin would not see that.  
  
He only heard the old warriors speak of glorious days in their past, of slaying orcs and marching to victory. But when his little brother looked up at him with pleading and hopeful eyes from underneath wild, dark hair it was hard for Thorin to tell him thus.  
  
“Alright.” He finally gave in, heaving a sigh at his own inability to deny his brother anything. “I will speak to him, but I promise nothing, little brother.”

  


He kept to his promise. He talked to both his father and grandfather and at last they both agreed to let the young prince join the reinforcement around old Lord Fundin. Frerin would be at the very back of their army, where it was the safest. He would be allowed to join their camp and the travelling army, but he would still be safe.  
  
How much they had erred with that assumption Thorin only realised when it was much too late.  
  
In the midst of battle he had not had the time to spare a single thought about anything else but the orcs in front of him, the dwarves at his side and the weapons in his hands. In fact he had all but forgotten about their reinforcements, about anything at all when he had seen his grandfather being slaughtered and after that his mind had been blank save for the feeling of almost mindless rage. Even after the orcs had fled he had still been trembling with that rage for minutes after, unable to stand still he instead patrolled the fields to look for injured survivors.  
  
Unconsciously he had strayed after Balin and Dwalin, seeking for his father with half his mind, even though he was terrified of what he might find and even more terrified of never finding him and remaining uncertain about Thráin’s fate.  
  
It was then that he had realised over whose body Balin had stopped and only a few moments later realisation had dawned on him, cold and ugly, about what defeated group of dwarves he was looking at, their bodies half buried under dead orcs, dozens of them for each fallen dwarf.  
  
After that he could only cry out, when he caught sight of a familiar slip of royal blue robes underneath silvery chainmail, buried beneath the vile corpse of an orc. His mind frozen with shock Thorin could only yell out and rush forward, throwing aside whatever he was holding. It was unimportant.  
  
Nothing was important in this particular moment or any of the following, nothing except for his brother, broken and bloodied and cold. His desperate howl of pain was barely more than a devastated sound tearing from his throat as Thorin picked his lifeless brother up, gathering him in his arms.  
  
“No! NO Frerin, no!”  
  
He clutched the slighter body and pressed his forehead against his little brother’s as if he could force life back into him through the contact. “Brother, please! Please NO!”  
But Frerin was not there to answer anymore. There were merely a few more gasps left in him, and Thorin was not even sure if his unseeing eyes were recognizing him, before the life left them.  
  
Cold and limb he lay in Thorin’s arms, staring up at him with empty eyes and Thorin could not do anything else but cry and howl and roar and apologise to the empty shell that had been his little brother. Rocking back and forth as if to soothe a crying child.  
  
“You were not supposed to be here. You were not… Please no… I’m so sorry. Brother. So sorry. Please come back.”  
  
The sun was already setting again behind veil-like clouds, drenching the battlefield with red once more, when Thorin finally allowed anyone else near him again. He let himself be helped up and even let someone take the cold body of Frerin out of his arms. Swaying on his feet the young king did not say another word, nor did he look at anyone, his eyes far away and unseeing as he was lead to his own tent and helped out of his armour. He did not eat nor did he sleep any of those following nights they spent on the fields in front of the gates of Moria to grieve and offer their dead the last honour before returning to their dwelling in the Blue Mountains.  
  
  
~  
  
  
His mother’s room was locked. It was the most unusual thing that had happened this morning. Her room was never locked. How else should he come to her when he had bad dreams at night? Especially now when Thorin could not go into his father’s room, since Thráin was away from the mountain, hunting vile things and making sure they were all safe. But today and yesterday it had been firmly locked, with two guards standing in front of it and old grey haired women rushing in and out. Which was pretty unusual too, but not that important compared to the state of the door.  
  
Every time Thorin had asked to pass he had been sent away or taken by the hand by one of the guards and together they had sat in the big living room, where the soldier had played with him for a little while. But Thorin hadn’t wanted to play, especially not with a soldier that was blocking his way to his mother. And the screams that had started shortly after midday had further assured Thorin that somehow he needed to get into this room.  
  
What if his mother was ill? What if all these women were hurting her in some way? Never had he wished more for his father to return than now.  
  
He would just tell all these people to move away and let him through to get to his mother, because not even Old Tuún – the man who made their dinner and brought his father his letters – seemed to be able or wanting to do anything about the situation at hand.  
  
Worried Thorin stood at the corner of the corridor, his eyes darting between the guards and the locked door, trying to find out what to do. After he had thrown his toys at one of them they had at least left him alone with their attempts to play with him. Good for them, because Thorin did not want to have anything to do with traitors the likes of them and as soon as his father came home he would tell him about them and their crimes. And about the old woman that was usually looking after him when his parents were away somewhere, who had tried to read him a story, but he wouldn’t listen and she had gotten it all wrong anyways and in the end she had just told him to please stay away from the door (“Everything is alright, my little prince, you need not worry.”) before she too had hurried off to help running to and fro between the locked room and the kitchen.  
  
Though all of those thoughts of telling his father on those rude soldiers and lying old women fled from the dwarrow’s mind, when their front door burst open and his father strode in, dropping pieces of his armour on his way, his face crinkled with concern and promising a storm to come down over whoever dared to step in his way.  
  
“DA! Da, Momma’s in there and they’re hurtin’ her and won’t let me in! You need to _do_ something!” Thorin shouted out when his father had reached him where he still stood clinging to the rough stones of the edge of the corridor.  
  
His father must be thinking the same, he curtly brushed over his son’s head, trying to offer him a smile, but it was tense and Thorin could see the worry in his eyes and it made him only more agitated and didn’t calm him down in the least. Brusquely the elder dwarf walked past his son, but he did not demand access to the room as Thorin had expected, instead he leaned close to the guards and asked them a few hushed questions. When one of the hurrying women opened the door at the knocked sign of one of the soldiers she too talked to Thráin briefly, after which his father came back to Thorin to pick him up and sit down on the bench across from the door, seating the dwarfling on his knee.  
  
“Why can we not go in?” Thorin asked confused, because he had never seen his father give up or turn around when something was wrong with their family. And people locking doors in their house with his mother crying behind was certainly something wrong.  
  
“We mustn’t go in there, my little gem.” His father told Thorin seriously and the dwarfling gaped up at him with wide eyes. “But you’re the prince! And momma’s in there, why can we not go to her?” Thorin didn’t understand, she was in pain and earlier he thought he had heard her call for his father, so why would these soldiers which were always so friendly to him and let him go wherever he wanted not go into that room now? Or maybe it had been those ladies that had told them to not let anyone through?  
  
Thorin hadn’t liked them from the start, they smelled of bitter herbs and they were always rushing and carrying things into the room and never forgetting to lock the door behind them. Also they had not even taken any time to tell Thorin what was happening with his mother when he had asked them. But who did they think they were? Ordering soldiers around like that, even if they were muchs stronger than them! And now also telling his father to stay away! Certainly they would be punished soon enough.  
  
“We cannot go in there, because your brother is about to come out of momma’s belly.” Thráin explained quietly to his son, absent minded brushing through the dwarrow’s dark locks as he shot the door a dark look.   
  
He too seemed to resent those soldiers and those women, but apparently they were there for a reason, otherwise his father would have fought them off, of that Thorin was sure. No one was allowed to harm any of them, not him, not his mother and certainly not his little brother that had been growing in his momma’s belly for so long now. Almost an age, Thorin was sure of that, so really his brother should hurry up already so that all this trouble would finally be over.  
  
“Is that gonna take very long? I wanna see momma.” Thorin said, leaning close against his father’s chest and burying his little hand in Thráin’s thick greying beard.  
“No, my boy, it’s not gonna take that much longer. You’ll be able to see them both soon.”  
  
Soothed for now Thorin was content with sitting on his father’s lap and listening to the scurrying footsteps behind the door. The cries of his mother made him flinch every now and again and caused Thráin to tug his little son closer to him. Exhausted from all the worrying and asking and walking around Thorin fell asleep despite the tumult around him a little while later and was only woken up when he could hear his father speak and then suddenly stand up, with the five-year-old still on his arms.  
  
“Wha’s happ’nin’?” Thorin asked sleepily and rubbed at his eyes. There was someone else crying now, a high voice that was whining no matter how many other voices were cooing over it, trying to smother the sound and eventually succeeding.   
  
“We can go in now.” Thráin told his little son and almost instantly Thorin was a lot more awake. Finally he was allowed to see his mother again.  
  
Anxiously he held onto his father’s beard and shoulders, trying not to squirm in impatience, as Thráin carefully walked through the door, apparently torn if he wanted to be as excited as his son or rather reluctant to see what had happened in the room.  
  
“Momma!” Thorin cried out, when they were finally past the veils that hung in the doorway and when he could finally see his mother again. She looked tired, her brown hair tied back in a lose bun, stray strands of hair hanging into her face and over her closed eyes. The bed around her was rumbled and the covers were askew over her, there was a pile of dirty cloths and linen in one corner and the entire room smelled too sweet of some incense that was burning on his mother’s nightstand, but Thorin didn’t pay any of that any attention, he had only eyes for his mother who had opened her eyes at the sound of her son’s voice.  
  
“Hello my little boy.” She greeted him, her voice hoarse, but warm and loving and so reassuring. “I was so scared momma! Are you alright?” Thorin asked, as his father carefully sat him down on the edge of the bed from where he instantly crawled over to press himself against his mother’s side, taking no note of how the other people were all ushered out of the room to allow the little family to have some time to themselves.  
  
“I’m well, my gem.” She smiled at him, carefully disentangling one arm from the weird bundle she held to brush over her son’s head, cradling him close and pressing a short kiss to his forehead. Over the top of Thorin’s head she offered her husband a similar tired smile that Thráin took as a sign to come closer to her and sit on the bed as well, despite still being half dressed with armour and dust from the road, having taken no time at all to clean himself in his worry over his wife.  
  
Wordlessly she straightened herself up a little more to finally show her husband the bundle she held in her arms. Thorin too moved aside a little, surprised to see that it was not just a bundle with white cloth as he had assumed at first, but that there was something in those linens. Something tiny and quite red-faced.  
“Say hello to your little brother, Thorin.”  
Curious the dwarrow studied the baby, taking note of its big head, dark fluff growing on top and the tiny hands that were just peeking out over the blankets around the rest of him.  
  
“He’s really small.” Thorin said, somewhat worried. “He will grow soon, yes?” because if his brother stayed like this he surely wouldn’t be able to play with him. “Of course my gem he will.” He was told by his mother, whose eyes were wet despite the broad smile on her face. “He’s beautiful, my love.” Thráin whispered, carefully draping an arm around his wife’s shoulders to tug her against him, leaning his head atop her’s, embracing all of his family.  
  
“Do you want to hold him?” With some help from his father and mother Thorin finally sat between the two of them with the tiny bundle that was his brother settled in his arms.  
  
Letting out a soft whine the baby opened his clear blue eyes to blink up at all those blurry faces around him that were his family. “You were that small once, Thorin.” Thráin told his eldest son, not even bothering to hold back the smile that spread over his face at seeing the elder brush a careful hand over the soft fluff on his new born brother’s head which made the baby squeak. “Does he have a name yet?” Thorin asked, not really believing that he had been this small once.  
  
“His name’s Frerin.” His mother told him fondly, leaning against her husband and holding her two sons close.  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I know you'll all hate me for this, but don't worry I do too.


End file.
